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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 
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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



THE PILGRIM AND OTHER POEMS 



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THE PILGRIM 



AND OTHER POEMS 



BY 

SOPHIE JEWETT 

(ELLEN BURROUGHS) 



,d>M-t W 



Kefo gorfc 
MACMILLAN AND CO. 

LONDON : MACMILLAN & CO., Ltd. 
1896 

All rights reserved 



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Copyright, 1896, 
By MACMILLAN AND CO. 



II- 



Nor&rooto $rrss 

J. S. Cushing & Co. - Berwick & Smith 
Norwood Mass. U.S.A. 



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H. H. H. 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

I. The Pilgrim 3 

II. Sonnets : 

The Soldier 9 

A Friendship 10 

Separation 11 

Absent 12 

Thus Far 13 

Thoughts 14 

Christmas 15 

Sidney Lanier 16 

III. Rondeaus : 

If Spirits walk 19 

I saw Love's Eyes 20 

Across the Fields . . , . . .21 

I speak your Name 22 

Mignonne 23 

vii 



vin CONTENT 

IV. Songs: . page 

Armistice 27 

Even-Song 28 

Song 29 

Song 30 

Song 32 

Song 33 

Song 35 

Songs from an Unprinted Poem. I., II. . . 36 

Bud and Rose. For a Child .... 38 

A Winter Song 39 

V. Other Lyrics: 

White Head 43 

Vespers 46 

Gabriel 49 

Though unseen 50 

Sangraal 51 

When Nature hath betrayed the Heart that loved 

her 52 

In April 53 

A Land Wind 54 

At Sea 55 

February 56 

Ghosts 57 



CONTENTS IX 

Other Lyrics {continued') : pack 

Sleep 58 

The Watcher and the Wind .... 59 

The Madonna 60 

Pan and Psyche. (A painting by Sir Edward 

Burne-Jones) 62 

A Smiling Demon of N6tre Dame ... 64 

The Common Chord 66 

Destiny 67 

River and Bird 68 

A Journey 70 

A Dream 72 

Sidney Lanier 73 

Entre Nous 74 

Communion 75 

The Rider 76 

A Greeting 77 

From Over-Sea 79 

To 81 

April. From the French of Remy Belleau . . 82 

Metempsychosis 83 

A Letter 86 

Venice in April 89 

To-day's Daughter. Written for the Graduating 

Class at Smith College, June, 1885 . . 93 



THE PILGRIM 



THE PILGRIM 

" Such a palmer ne'er was seene, 
Lesse Love himselfe had palmer beene." 

Never too Late. 

Pilgrim feet, pray whither bound? 
Pilgrim eyes, pray whither bent? 
Sandal-shod and travel-gowned, 
Lo, I seek the way they went 
Late who passed toward Holy Land. 

Pilgrim, it was long ago; 
None remains who saw that band ; 
Grass and forest overgrow 
Every path their footing wore. 
Men are wise; they seek no more 
Roads that lead to Holy Land. 

Proud his look, as who should say: 
/ shall find where lies the way. 

Pilgrim, thou art fair of face, 
Staff and scrip are not for thee ; 
3 



THE PILGRIM 

Gentle pilgrim, of thy grace, 
Leave thy quest, and bide with me. 
Love shall serve thee, joy shall bless; 
Thou wert made for tenderness : 
God's green world is fair and sweet ; 
Not o'er sea and Eastern strand, 
But where friend and lover meet 
Lies the way to Holy Land. 

Low his voice, his lashes wet : 
One day if God will — not yet. 

Pilgrim, pardon me and heed. 
Men of old who took that way 
Went for fame of goodly deed, 
Or, if sooth the stories say, 
Sandalled priest, or knight in selle, 
Flying each in pain and hate, 
Harassed by stout fiends of hell, 
Sought his crime to expiate. 
Prithee, Pilgrim, go not hence ; 
Clear thy brow, and white thy hand, 
What shouldst thou with penitence? 
Wherefore seek to Holy Land? 



THE PILGRIM 

Stern the whisper on his lip : 
Sin and shame are in my scrip. 

Pilgrim, pass, since it must be ; 
Take thy staff, and have thy will; 
Prayer and love shall follow thee ; 
I will watch thee o'er the hill. 
What thy fortune God doth know; 
By what paths thy feet must go. 
Far and dim the distance lies, 
Yet my spirit prophesies : 
Not in vigil lone and late, 
Bowed upon the tropic sand, 
But within the city gate, 
In the struggle of the street, 
Suddenly thine eyes shall meet 
His whose look is Holy Land. 

Smiled the pilgrim, sad and sage : 
Long must be my pilgrimage. 



SONNETS 



THE SOLDIER 

"Non vi si pensa quanto sangue costa." 

Paradiso xxix. 91. 

The soldier fought his battle silently. 

Not his the strife that stays for set of sun ; 

It seemed this warfare never might be done ; 

Through glaring day and blinding night fought he. 
There came no hand to help, no eye to see \ 

No herald's voice proclaimed the fight begun ; 

No trumpet, when the bitter field was won, 

Sounded abroad the soldier's victory. 
As if the struggle had been light, he went, 

Gladly, life's common road a little space ; 

Nor any knew how his heart's blood was spent ; 
Yet there were some who after testified 

They saw a glory grow upon his face ; 

And all men praised the soldier when he died. 



A FRIENDSHIP 

Small fellowship of daily commonplace 
We hold together, dear, constrained to go 
Diverging ways. Yet day by day I know 
My life is sweeter for thy life's sweet grace ; 

And if we meet but for a moment's space, 
Thy touch, thy word, sets all the world aglow. 
Faith soars serener, haunting doubts shrink low, 
Abashed before the sunshine of thy face. 

Nor press of crowd, nor waste of distance serves 
To part us. Every hush of evening brings 
Some hint of thee, true-hearted friend of mine ; 

And as the farther planet thrills and swerves 

When towards it through the darkness Saturn swings, 
Even so my spirit feels the spell of thine. 



10 



SEPARATION 

Along the Eastern shore the low waves creep, 
Making a ceaseless music on the sand, 
A song that gulls and curlews understand, 

The lullaby that sings the day to sleep. 

A thousand miles afar, the grim pines keep 
Unending watch upon a shoreless land, 
Yet through their tops, swept by some wizard hand, 

The sound of surf comes singing up the steep. 

Sweet, thou canst hear the tidal litany ; 

I, mid the pines land-wearied, may but dream 
Of the far shore ; but though the distance seem 

Between us fixed, impassable, to me 

Cometh thy soul's voice, chanting love's old theme, 

And mine doth answer, as the pines the sea. 



ii 




ABSENT 

My friend, I need thee in good days or ill, 
I need the counsel of thy larger thought ; 
And I would question all the year has brought — 

What spoil of books, what victories of will ; 

But most I long for the old wordless thrill, 

When on the shore, like children picture-taught, 
We watched each miracle the sweet day wrought, 

While the tide ebbed, and every wind was still. 

Dear, let it be again as if we mused, 

We two, with never need of spoken word 

(While the sea's fingers twined among the dulse, 
And gulls dipped near), our spirits seeming fused 
In the great Life that quickens wave and bird, 
Our hearts in happy rhythm with the world-pulse. 



THUS FAR 

Because my life has lain so close to thine, 
Because our hearts have kept a common beat, 
Because thine eyes turned towards me frank and 
sweet, 

Reveal sometimes thine untold thoughts to mine, 

Think not that I, by curious design, 
Or over-step of too impetuous feet, 
Could desecrate thy soul's supreme retreat, 

Could disregard its quivering barrier-line. 

Only a simple Levite, I, who stand 

On the world's side of the most holy place, 
Till, as the new day glorifies the east, 
One come to lift the veil with reverent hand, 
And enter with thy soul's soul face to face, — 
He whom thy God shall call to be high priest. 



13 



THOUGHTS 

The morning brought a stranger to my door. 
I know not whence such feet as his may stray, 
From what still heights, along what star-set way. 
A child he seemed, yet my eyes fell before 

His eyes Olympian. I did implore 
Him enter, linger but one golden day 
To bless my house. He passed, he might not stay, 
And though I call with tears, he comes no more. 

At noon there stole a beggar to my gate, 
Of subtle tongue, the porter he beguiled. 
His creeping, evil steps my house defiled. 

I flung him scornful alms, I bade him straight 
To leave me. Swift he clutched my fee and smiled, 
Yet went not forth, nor goes, despite my hate. 



14 



CHRISTMAS 

The Christmas bells ring discord overhead; 

The Christmas lights flash cold across the snow ; 

The angel-song fell silent long ago ; 

Nor seer, nor silly shepherd comes, star-led, 

To kneel to-night beside a baby's bed. 

Peace is not yet, and wrong and want and woe 

Cry in the city streets, and love is slow, 

And sin is sleek and swift and housed and fed. 

Dear Lord, our faith is faint, our hearts are sore ; 

Our prayers are as complaints, our songs as cries ; 

Fain would we hear the angel-voice once more, 
And see the Star still lead along the skies; 

Fain would, like sage and simple folk of yore, 

Watch where the Christ-child smiles in Mary's eyes. 



SIDNEY LANIER 

Died September 7, 1881 

The Southwind brought a voice ; was it of bird ? 

Or faint-blown reed ? or string that quivered long ? 

A haunting voice that woke into a song 
Sweet as a child's low laugh, or lover's word. 
We listened idly till it grew and stirred 

With throbbing chords of joy, of love, of wrong; 

A mighty music, resonant and strong; 
Our hearts beat higher for that voice far-heard. 

The Southwind brought a shadow, purple-dim, 
It swept across the warm smile of the sun ; 
A sudden shiver passed on field and wave; 
The grasses grieved along the river's brim. 

We knew the voice was silent, the song done ; 
We knew the shadow smote across a grave. 



16 



RONDEAUS 



"IF SPIRITS WALK" 

" I have heard (but not believed) the spirits of the dead 
May walk again." Winter's Tale. 

If spirits walk, Love, when the night climbs slow 
The slant footpath where we were wont to go, 
Be sure that I shall take the self-same way 
To the hill-crest, and shoreward, down the gray, 
Sheer, gravelled slope, where vetches straggling grow. 

Look for me not when gusts of winter blow, 
When at thy pane beat hands of sleet and snow; 
I would not come thy dear eyes to affray, 
If spirits walk. 

But when, in June, the pines are whispering low, 
And when their breath plays with thy bright hair so 
As some one's fingers once were used to play — 
That hour when birds leave song, and children 
pray, 
Keep the old tryst, sweetheart, and thou shalt know 
If spirits walk. 
19 



I SAW LOVE'S EYES 

I saw Love's eyes, I saw Love's crowned hair; 
I heard Love's voice, a song across the air ; 

The glad-of-heart were of Love's royal train; 

Sweet-throated heralds cried his endless reign, 
And where his garment swept, the earth grew fair. 

Along Love's road one walked whose feet were bare 
And bleeding ; no complaint he made, nor prayer, 
Yet dim and wistful as a child's in pain 
I saw Love's eyes. 

I groped with Love where shadow lay, and snare; 
I climbed with Love the icy mountain stair; 

The wood was dark, the height was hard to gain ; 
The birds were songless and the flowers were 
slain ; 
Yet brave alway above my heart's despair 
I saw Love's eyes. 



ACROSS THE FIELDS 

Across the fields, the happy fields that lay 
Unfaded yet, one visionary day 

We walked together, and the world was sweet. 

Each heard the whisper neither might repeat, 
Love's whisper underneath our light word-play. 

When fields were brown, when skies hung close 

and gray, 
Alone I walked the dear familiar way, 

With eager heart, with hurrying love-led feet, 
Across the fields. 

O life that hath so bitter words to say ! 
O heart so sore impatient of delay ! 

O wistful hands that reach and may not meet ! 

O eyes that yearn for answering eyes to greet ! 
The summer comes. It wins me not to stray 
Across the fields. 



21 



I SPEAK YOUR NAME 

I speak your name in alien ways, while yet 
November smiles from under lashes wet. 
In the November light I see you stand 
Who love the fading woods and withered land, 
Where Peace may walk, and Death, but not Regret. 

The year is slow to alter or forget ; 
June's glow and autumn's tenderness are met. 
Across the months by this swift sunlight spanned, 
I speak your name. 

Because I loved your golden hair, God set 
His sea between our eyes. I may not fret, 

For, sure and strong, to meet my soul's demand, 
Comes your soul's truth, more near than hand in 
hand; 
And low to God, who listens, Margaret, 
I speak your name. 



22 



MIGNONNE 

FOURTEENTH CENTURY FORM 

Mignonne, whose face bends low for my caressing, 
New and unknown to-night thy beauty seemeth; 
Dimly I read thine eyes as one who dreameth. 

The moonlight yester-eve fell soft in blessing, 
That coldly now across thy bright hair gleameth; 

Mignonne, whose face bends low for my caressing, 
New and unknown to-night thy beauty seemeth. 

As penitent, low-voiced, his sins confessing, 

Pleads where the light of the high altar streameth, 
I speak to thee, whose love my love redeemeth. 

Mignonne, whose face bends low for my caressing, 
New and unknown to-night thy beauty seemeth; 
Dimly I read thine eyes as one who dreameth. 



23 



SONGS 



ARMISTICE 

The water sings along our keel, 

The wind falls to a whispering breath; 

I look into your eyes and feel 
No fear of life or death ; 

So near is love, so far away 

The losing strife of yesterday. 

We watch the swallow skim and dip ; 

Some magic bids the world be still; 
Life stands with finger upon lip ; 

Love hath his gentle will; 
Though hearts have bled, and tears have burned, 
The river floweth unconcerned. 

We pray the fickle flag of truce 

Still float deceitfully and fair; 
Our eyes must love its sweet abuse; 

This hour we will not care, 
Though just beyond to-morrow's gate, 
Arrayed and strong, the battle wait. 
27 



EVEN-SONG 

Come, O Love, while the far stars whiten, 
Gathering, growing, momently; 

Thou, who art star of stars, to lighten 
One dim heart that waiteth thee. 

Speak, O Love, for the silence presses, 
Bowing my spirit like a fear ; 

Thou, whose words are as caresses, 
Sweet, sole voice that I long to hear. 



23 



SONG 

Thy face I have seen as one seeth 

A face in a dream, 
Soft drifting before me as drifteth 

A leaf on the stream : 
A face such as evermore fleeth 

From following feet, 
A face such as hideth and shifteth 

Evasive and sweet. 

Thy voice I have heard as one heareth 

Afar and apart, 
The wood-thrush that rapturous poureth 

The song of his heart; 
Who heedeth is blest, but who neareth 

In wary pursuit, 
May see where the singer upsoareth, 

The forest is mute. 



29 



SONG 

"O Love, thou art winged and swift, 

Yet stay with me evermore ! " 
And I guarded my house with bolt and bar 

Lest Love fly forth at the door. 

Without, in the world, 'twas cold, 

While Love and I together 
Laughed and sang by my red hearth-fire, 

Nor knew it was winter weather. 

Sweet Love would lull me to sleep, 

In his tireless arm caressed ; 
His shadowing wings and burning eyes 

Like night and stars wrought rest. 

And ever the beat of Love's heart 

As a chime rang at my ear ; 
And ever Love's bending, beautiful face 

Covered me close from fear. 
30 



SONG 31 

Was it long ere I waked alone? 

A snow-drift whitened the floor; 
I saw spent ashes upon my hearth 

And Death in my open door. 



SONG 

I come across the sea, 
(O ship, ride fast) ! 
True heart, I sail to thee; 
Sail home at last. 
Yet ships there are that never reach their haven, 

Though glad they sail; 
And hoarse laments of curlew and sea-raven 
Haunt every gale. 

My ship lies at the pier 
(The tide's at turn) ; 
No place she hath for fear 
From prow to stern. 
O Love, the soul shall never miss its haven, 

Though it sail far, 
Nor hoarse laments of curlew and sea-raven 
May reach yon star. 



32 



SONG 

Laughter that ringeth all day long 

In a world of dancing feet; 
A heart attuned to a bird's wild song, 

As eager, as wayward and sweet. 
Love, passing by, drew near and smiled : 
" Ah, dear Love, wait, she is a child ! " 
Reluctantly he went his way : 
" I shall come back another day." 

A heavier- drooping lid, a line 

Gentler in curving cheek and chin; 
Lips where joys tremble, where hopes shine ; 

And something more — a storm within, 
A heart that wakes to sudden fears, 
And eyes that know the use of tears : 
" Ah, cruel Love ! to come and teach 
A pain that knows nor name nor speech ! " 

Love stands aggrieved : " Farewell, I go ! 
Take back thy child-heart's unconcern." 
D 33 



3+ SONG 

" Nay, nay ! Thou shalt not leave me so ! " 

She holds him fast with tears that burn. 
"Sweet Love, I pray thee to abide. 
If thou walk constant at my side, 
Through doubt, through sorrow, through despair, 
No pain can be too hard to bear." 



SONG 

Lady mine, so passing fair, 

Would'st thou roses for thy hair? 

Would'st thou lilies for thy hand? 

Bid me pluck them where they stand. 

Those are warm and red to see, 

These are cold. Are both like thee? 

Brow of lily, lip of rose, 

Heart that no man living knows ! 

If one knelt beside thy feet, 

Would'st thou spurn, or love him, Sweet? 



35 



SONGS FROM AN UNPRINTED POEM 



Hast seen the blue wave sleeping, sleeping, 

By gentle winds caressed? 
Hast seen the far moon ceaseless keeping 

Her watch above its rest? 

Hast seen the pale moths drift together 

With winged seeds wind-sown? 
Hast seen the falling of gull's feather, 

Or leaf from wild rose blown? 

Hast seen the white wave dancing, dancing, 

With wondrous witchery, 
Like hers who rose, men's hearts entrancing, 

From out the sun-bright sea? 

Lighter than wave, or leaf, or pinion, 

Than circling moth more fleet, 
Than goddess mightier of dominion, 

The charm of rhythmic feet. 
36 



SONGS FROM AN UNPRINTED POEM 37 



O day thou art so weary long ! 

O night so maddening brief! 
Swift moments for life's feast and song, 

Slow hours for life's grief. 

A thousand pearls the lavish sea 

Rolls up to fill my hands; 
The ebb-tide leaves but shells to me 

Empty upon the sands. 



BUD AND ROSE 

FOR A CHILD 

It is so small ! 
A cup of green, — a tiny tip 
As pink as is a baby's lip, 

And that is all. 

But sunshine's kiss, 
And rain- drops falling warm and fast, 
And coaxing winds will make at last 

A rose like this. 



3S 



A WINTER SONG 

All the roses are under the snow : 

Only the tips 
Of the bare, brown, thorny bushes show. 

Out of sight, pretty blossoms sleep 
Sweet and sound; there are left for me 
Fairest of roses, one, two, three, — 

Where do you think? 
On my baby's cheeks two, pale and pink, 
And one that is ripe and red and deep, 
On my baby's lips. 

All the bonnie brown birds are flown 

Far to the South. 
Never a piping, fluted tone, 

Never a silver, soaring song 
From wood-path sounds, or meadow white; 
Yet, in his hurried southward flight, 

Some songster kind 
Has left the sweetest of gifts behind : 
39 



40 A WINTER SONG 

Music that ripples all day long 
From my baby's mouth. 

All the stars have faded away; 
The blue bright skies 
Show not a golden gleam to-day 

Where a thousand flashed last night; 
But when the far lamps blaze again, 
For the brightest you may look in vain 

(Sly truants two), 
Fast hidden away from me and you, 
Under soft covers folded tight 
In my baby's eyes. 



OTHER LYRICS 



WHITE HEAD 

Prone on the northern water, 
That laps him about the breast, 

Like the Sphinx in the sand, forever 
The giant lies in rest. 

The sails drive swift before him, 
And the surf beats at his lip, 

But the gray eyes look out seaward 
Noting nor wave nor ship. 

The centuries drift over, 

He marks not with smile nor frown, 
Drift over him cloud and sea-gull, 

Swallow and thistledown. 

I, of the race that passes, 

Quick with its hope and its fear, 

Lean on his brow and question, 
Plead at his senseless ear : 
43 



WHITE HEAD 

"What of thy past unmeasured? 

And what of the peoples gone? 
What of the sea's first singing? 

What of the primal dawn? 

"What was the weird that bowed thee? 

How did the struggle cease? 
Out of what Titan anguish 

Issued thy hopeless peace?" 

Nothing the pale lips utter, 

What hath been, nor what shall be ; 
Under the brow's stern shadow, 

The gray eyes look to sea. 

The blue glows round and over, 
Thin-veiled, as it were God's face ; 

I feel the breath, the spirit, 

That knows nor time nor space. 

And my heart grieves for the giant 

In his pitiful repose, 
Mocked by the vagrant gladness 

Of a laggard brier-rose ; 



WHITE HEAD 45 

Mocked to his face from seaward 
By the flash and whirl of wings ; 

Mocked from the grass above him, 
By life that creeps and sings. 

I care not for his wisdom, 

His secret unconfessed; 
I yearn toward rose and cricket, 

Ephemeral and blest. 

Ah ! if he might, how would he 

Quicken to love and to tears; 
For my immortal minute 

Barter his endless years ! 

He rests on the restless water, 

And I on the grasses brown, 
Drift over us cloud and sea-gull, 

Swallow and thistledown. 



Casco Bay. 



VESPERS 

The robins call me sweet and shrill : 

"Come out and fare afield; 
The sun has neared the western hill, 
The shadows slip down sure and still, 
But in our meadow wide and wet 
There's half an hour of sunshine yet; 

Come down, come down ! " Who would not 
yield ? 

Across the road and through the lane, 

Where buttercups grow tall and bright 
With daisies washed in last night's rain, — 
Beyond the open bars I gain 
An angle of the rude rail-fence, 
A perfect coign of vantage, whence 

Wheat-field and pasture stretch in sight. 

The cows, with stumbling tread and slow, 
One after one come straggling by, 
46 



VESPERS 47 

And many a yellow head falls low, 

And many a daisy's scattered snow, 
Where the unheeding footsteps pass, 
Is crushed and blackened in the grass, 
With brier and rue that trampled lie. 

Sweet sounds with sweeter blend and strive : 

In its white prime of blossoming 
Each wayside berry-bush, alive 
With myriad bees, hums like a hive ; 
The frogs are loud in ditch and pool, 
And songs unlearned of court or school 
June's troubadours all round me sing. 

Somewhere beneath the meadow's veil 

The peewee's brooding notes begin; 
The sparrows chirp from rail to rail; 
Above the bickering swallows sail, 

Or skim the green half-tasselled wheat 
With plaintive cry; and at my feet 
A cricket tunes his mandolin. 

High-perched, a master-minstrel proud, 

The red-winged blackbird pipes and calls, 
One moment jubilant and loud, 



48 VESPERS 

The next, to sudden silence vowed, 
Seeks cover in the marsh below; 
Soft winds along the rushes blow, 
And like a whisper twilight falls. 



GABRIEL 

"That annunciation named death." 

"I know thee Angel, though thou dost not wear, 
As thou wast wont, the glory and the gold 
That smote upon the poet's gaze of old. 

Thou Messenger! What tidings dost thou bear? 

"I know thee winged and vested thus in gray, 
Not clouds of heaven and night of earth disguise 
The light supernal of thine awful eyes. 

O Angel, linger, speak to me who pray ! " 

Almost I seemed to hold and to let slip 

The angel's robe ; I know the gray wings cast 
Shadow about me ; yet he smiled and passed, 

That word of God a- quiver on his lip. 

When morning came, one died whom I held dear; 

The angel's smile lay on his quiet face ; 

For him who pleaded not had been the grace, 
The word ineffable I wait to hear. 
e 49 



THOUGH UNSEEN 

From the dwelling-place of the Holy Dead 
Wilt thou come back to me? 
O Love, it is far 
To that glad, great star 
Whose shining hath hidden thee ! 
"Neither in star nor sun," she said, 

Her voice as it oft had been, 
"The dwelling-place of the Holy Dead, 
Nor dreamer nor saint hath seen." 

Lost Love of mine, where we walked of yore 
Thy feet made hallowed ground ; 
Now earth is earth, 
Here are death and birth, 
But where is the glory found? 
Low at my side her voice once more, 

"Dull are thine eyes," she said; 
"Walk with me now as we went of yore," 
And I walk with the Holy Dead. 
50 



SANGRAAL 

Tasting the wine of death he found it sweet; 
Drank deeper draughts and only smiled the more; 
As if he touched the hand that held the cup, 
As if he saw the Christ look down on him, 
Content he whispered, "Lord, I drink to thee." 



5i 



WHEN NATURE HATH BETRAYED THE 
HEART THAT LOVED HER 

The gray waves rock against the gray sky-line, 
And break complaining on the long gray sand, 
Here where I sit who cannot understand 

Their voice of pain nor this dumb pain of mine ; 

For I, who thought to fare till my days end, 
Armed sorrow-proof in sorrow, having known 
How hearts bleed slow when brave lips make no 
moan, 

How Life can torture, how Death may befriend 

When Love entreats him hasten, — even I, 
Who feared no human anguish that may be, 
I cannot bear the loud grief of the sea ; 

I cannot bear the still grief of the sky. 



52 



IN APRIL 

All day the grass made my feet glad; 

I watched the bright life thrill 
To each leaf-tip and flower-lip; 

Swift winds that swept the hill, 
In garden nook light lingering, shook 

The budding daffodil. 

I know not if the earth have kept 

Work-day or festival : 
The sparrow sings of nestling things, 

Blithely the robins call; 
And loud I hear, from marsh-pools near, 

The hylas at nightfall. 



53 



A LAND-WIND 

The lichen rustles against my cheek, 
But the heart of the rock is still; 

With chattering voice the cedars speak, 
Crouched gray on the barren hill. 

A land-wind snarls on the cliffs sheer edge, 

Below, the smitten sea 
Comes fawning over a sunken ledge, 

And cowers whimperingly. 

In the sultry wood lies a restless hush, 
Not a twitter falls from the sky; 

Hidden are swallow, sparrow and thrush, 
And the sea-birds only cry. 



54 



AT SEA 

So many eves the sun must sink within 
The westward plain of shoreless, homeless sea; 
So many morns, as if from heaven to heaven, 
From out the widening water in the east 
The sun must rise ; so many summer days, 
Full in the face of the unveiled sky, 
The ship must float, till even the strongest gull, 
Deserting, wheels to track a land-bound sail. 
So many days ! Yet there shall come a day — 
Some golden, holy, August afternoon — 
When, tired of sea at eve and sea at morn, 
The sun shall droop like a contented child, 
And sleep among the cradling hills of home. 



55 



FEBRUARY 

Last night I heard a robin sing; 

And though I walked where woods were bare, 

And winds were cold, life quivered there, 
As if in sleep the heart of spring 
Were moved to dim remembering. 

To-day no promise haunts the air; 

I find but snow and silence where 
Last night I heard a robin sing. 



56 



GHOSTS 

I slept last night and dreamed, 

I woke and cried, 

For in my sleep it seemed 

Close by my side, 

Walked still and slow the old days that have died. 

All ghostly slow they passed, 

All ghostly still; 
Of old who fled so fast, 
With life a-thrill, 
With laughing lips and eyes, with eager will. 

So ghostlike, yet the same, 

Each dear dead day, 
Softly I called her name 

And bade her stay; 
Softly she turned and smiled and went her way. 



57 



SLEEP 

Dear gray-eyed Angel, wilt thou come to-night? 

Spread the soft shadow of thy sheltering wings, 
And banish every hint of thought and light, 

And all the clamoring crowd of waking things? 
Wilt thou bend low above wide weary eyes, 
As o'er the worn world bend the tireless skies? 



5« 



THE WATCHER AND THE WIND 

THE WATCHER 

Wild singer at my casement, be thou still ! 

In pity let me sleep; 
For I am weary, and thy voice is shrill; 

We have no tryst to keep. 
Go on thy way; to gladder hearts than mine 

Thy song perchance were glad; 
To me if thou must come, come with sunshine, 

For night is over sad. 

THE WIND 

Nay listen, listen thou so fretfully pleading for rest; 

Those whom I rock may sleep : 
I rock drowned men in ocean cradled deep, 

And birds in frozen nest. 



59 



THE MADONNA 

The years may enter not her shrine ; 
Forever fair and young she stands, 
And with her gracious, girlish hands 

Folds tenderly the child divine. 

Her lips are warm with mother-love 
And blessedness, and from her eyes 
Looks the mute, questioning surprise 

Of one who hears a voice above 

Life's voices, — from the throng apart, 
Listens to God's low-whispered word 
(Strange message by no other heard), 

And keeps his secret in her heart. 

Sweet maiden- mother, years have fled 

Since the great painter dropped his brush, 
Left earth's loud praise for heaven's kind hush, 

While men bewailed him, early dead, — 
60 



THE MADONNA 61 

Yet mothers kneel before thee still 
Uplifting happy hearts; or, wild 
With cruel loss, reach toward thy child 

Void arms for the Christ-love to fill. 

Time waits without the sacred spot 

Where fair and young the mother stands; 
Time waits, and bars with jealous hands 

The door where years may enter not. 



PAN AND PSYCHE 

(A PAINTING BY SIR EDWARD BURNE-JONES) 

Sweet Psyche, hath thy quest of Love 
So led thee to a sterile land, 
Only to grief and fear at last? 
What stranger this who bends above 
Thy beauty? What unshapely hand 
Hides in the glory of thy hair? 
Pale wanderer, thy long sorrows past, 
May find no solace in those eyes, 
Though wistfully they scrutinize 
Thy face, and, dimly, know it fair. 

Go thou thy way bright Love to find ; 
And in the bliss of his embrace 
Thou shalt forget Pan's dusky face. 
Go thou thy way bright Love to find; 
While Pan, forsaken, like a brute 
62 



PAN AND PSYCHE 63 

Turns to his fare of nut and root; 
Yet change hath passed on the dark mind : 
Nor god nor beast now, from his flute 
Low human music haunts the wind. 



A SMILING DEMON OF NOTRE DAME 

Quiet as are the quiet skies 
He watches where the city lies 
Floating in vision clear or dim 
Through sun or rain beneath his eyes; 
Her songs, her laughter and her cries 
Hour after hour drift up to him. 



Her days of glory or disgrace 

He watches with unchanging face ; 

He knows what midnight crimes are done; 

What horrors under summer sun ; 

And souls that pass in holy death 

Sweep by him on the morning's breath. 



Alike to holiness and sin 
He feels nor alien nor akin; 
64 



A SMILING DEMON OF NOTRE DAME 65 

Five hundred creeping mortal years 
He smiles on human joy and tears, 
Man-made, immortal, scorning man; 
Serene, grotesque Olympian. 



THE COMMON QHORD 

A poet sang, so light of heart was he, 

A song that thrilled with joy in every word; 

It quivered with ecstatic melody ; 

It laughed as sunshine laughs upon the sea; 
It caught a measure from each lilting bird; 

But though the song rang out exultantly, 

The world passed by, with heavy step and loud, 
None heeding, save that, parted from the crowd, 
Two lovers heard. 

There fell a day when sudden sorrow smote 
The poet's life. Unheralded it came, 

Blotting the sun-touched page whereon he wrote 

His golden song. Ah ! then, from all remote, 
He sang the grief that had nor hope nor name 

In God's ear only; but one sobbing note 

Reached the world's heart, and swiftly, in the wake 
Of bitterness and passion and heart-break, 
There followed fame. 
66 



p DESTINY 

A noisome thing that crawls by covert path, 
For glad, unfearing feet to lie in wait; 

No part in summer's fellowship it hath, 
From mirth and love and music alienate. 

Yet once it flashed across the close, brown grass 
In the noon sun, and, as it quivered there, 

The spell of beauty over it did pass, 

Making it kin with earth and light and air. 

I knew that Life's imperial self decrees 
That this, the loathliest of living things, 

By patient ways of cycled centuries, 

Slow creeping, shall at last attain to wings. 



67 



RIVER AND BIRD 

Floweth the river still and strong; 
Flitteth the bird swift-winged along 
Its crested wave with joyous song. 

The bird is a creature of air and light; 
Skyward she taketh her circling flight, 
Leaving the broad stream out of sight. 

What though the mighty river frets 
With broken voice? Of long regrets 
Light hearts know little. The bird forgets. 

Weary at last of all things fair; 
Weary of soaring everywhere ; 
Weary of heaven, and earth, and air; 

Discontent in the song she sings — 
Cometh the bird from her wanderings 
Back to the river to dip her wings. 



68 



RIVER AND BIRD 69 

Stealeth the noon-hush far and wide ; 
Smileth the sun on the river's tide ; 
Dreameth the bird in the shade beside. 

# * * * * 

My love is the river still and strong; 
Thy heart is the bird that flits along 
Wave and ripple, with joyous song. 



A JOURNEY 

Uprose the Day when Night lay dead, 
She turned not back to kiss his cheek, 
But o'er the sombre eastern peak 

She soared, and touched it into red. 

Her strong wings scattered mist and cloud, 
As swiftly toward the highest blue, 
Unhindered, radiant, she flew. 

She sang for joy; she laughed aloud. 

"The midmost heaven," she cried, "is mine ! 

The midmost heaven and half the earth. 

A million joys I bring to birth, 
Upon a million lovers shine ! 

"I paint the grape, I gild the corn, 

I float the lilies on the lake, 

I set athrill in field and brake 
Fine strains of tiny flute and horn. 
70 



A JOURNEY 71 

"Ah, it is sweet," she said, and passed, 
Exulting still, down the sheer slope 
Of afternoon. Her heart of hope 

Went with her, dauntless, till, at last, 

Upon the far low-lying range 

Of hills, she spread a crimson cloud; 
From the pale mists she tore a shroud, 

And, sinking, faint with sense of change, 

She seemed to see a face bend o'er 
With kind, familiar eyes. She said : 
"Can it be you I left for dead? 

Can it be Night?" and spoke no more. 

Night wrapped her in his mantle gray; 

He kissed the quivering lids that slept; 

He bowed his silver head and wept — 
" How could she know, my love, my Day ? " 



A DREAM 

Last night, what time dreams wander east and west, 
What time a dream may linger, I lay dead, 
With flare of tapers pale above my head, 

With weight of drifted roses on my breast; 

And they, who noiseless came to watch my rest, 
Looked kindly down and gentle sentence said. 

One sighed " She was but young to go to-day ; " 
And one "How fiercely life with death had striven 
Ere God set free her spirit, sorrow-shriven ! " 
One said "The children grieve for her at play;" 
And one, who bent to take a rose away, 

Whispered " Dear love, would that we had for- 
given." 



72 



SIDNEY LANIER 

" Let my name perish : the poetry is good poetry, and the 
music is good music; and beauty dieth not, and the heart that 
needs it will find it." — Sidney Lanier (letter to his wife). 

Before his eyes forever shone afar 

The beauty that his strong soul loved and sought, 

And fast he followed it nor looked behind; 

No way too long, too rugged, nor too dark 

For his intent, fixed will. Close after him 

Sorrow and Pain sped on in swift pursuit; 

He felt their hard hands clutch to hold him back; 

Their breath was hot upon his fevered cheek; 

His eyes were weary, and his feet dropped blood ; 

He fell at last, and yet, they were too late, 

For folded close in his weak hand he held 

The prize their strength was impotent to wrest. 

Upon his forehead, growing white and chill, 

His Love, his Art laid gentle hands that blessed, s 

And on his spirit fell his Master's peace. 



73 



ENTRE NOUS 

I talk with you of foolish things and wise, 
Of persons, places, books, desires, and aims, 

Yet all our words a silence underlies, 

An earnest, vivid thought that neither names. 

Ah ! what to us were foolish talk or wise ? 

Were persons, places, books, desires, or aims 
Without the deeper sense that underlies, 

The sweet encircling thought that neither names? 



74 






COMMUNION 

Dusk of a lowering evening, 

Chill of a northern zone, 
Pitiful press of worn faces, 

And an exiled heart alone. 

Warm, as with sun of the tropic, 
Keen, as with salt of the sea, 

Sweet, as with breath of blown roses, 
Cometh thy thought to me. 



75 



THE RIDER 

One rode slow by river and wood : 
Slow and still, on the wayside grass ; 

And the willows withered where they stood, 
As they felt the silent rider pass. 

He drew rein nor at hut nor hall; 

Only smiled and rode his way; 
Yet a strong man turned him to the wall; 

And a child waked not with the waking day. 

The rider spurred to the city gate ; 

None gave him welcome where he came ; 
Glad eyes grew hard, for fear and hate, 

And pale lips quivered with his name. 

Slow, again, by river and wood 

The horseman went on the blackened grass ; 
The leafless willows shivering stood, 

As they felt the silent rider pass. 
76 



A GREETING 

My day was sordid and perplexed, 

Close circled by the commonplace ; 
And late I walked with spirit vexed, 

And sense of self-disgrace; 
For life and I were out of tune ; 

I did not see the rose-like flush; 

I did not feel the kindly hush 
Of waning afternoon. 

Its glory all around me lay, 

While yet I paced in discontent; 

When, suddenly, from far away, 
A quivering flash was sent; 

It thrilled my heart, it stayed my feet, 
A beacon sure and glad it shone, 
The last red gleam of day upon 

Your westward window, Sweet. 

And straight I knew the world was fair; 
I heard a robin's prophet song; 

- 77 



78 A GREETING 

I drank the bright wine of the air; 

My pulse grew quick and strong; 
Not wasted seemed the day's work done; 

Not hopeless seemed the thing I sought; 

The far-off heights of toil and thought 
Seemed worthy to be won. 



FROM OVER-SEA 



TO 



In Italy how comes the spring? 
I look across wide fields of snow 
To naked woods, and long to know 
How fair the shimmering mountains lie? 
How warm above them bends the sky 

Of Tuscany? 
What word from Rome the swallows bring, 

Swift sent to thee? 
Here stirs no life of bud nor wing; 
The trees by icy winds are torn; 
And yet I dream how flowers are born 

In Italy. 

I see the far, fair city swim 
Through mists of memory bright yet dim 
Shining, even as it shone of old 
Through Arno's haze of subtile gold, 
By witchery 
79 



80 FROM OVER-SEA 

Of distance, light and evening spun. 
Tall cypresses against the sun 

Distinct I see, 
Defiling darkly up the hill, 
As when we wandered at our will 

In Italy. 



TO 

Madonna mial if in truth 

Our Raphael from heaven's palaces 
Might lean across the centuries 

That have not marred his glorious youth, 

Nor dimmed the lustre of his hair, 
Nor dulled his pencil, rather grown 
Diviner, working near God's throne, 

Even he might find a study fair 

As his last fresco in the skies, 

Might pause untouched of mortal taint 
One infinite half hour to paint 

The motherhood in your dear eyes. 



81 



APRIL 

(FROM THE FRENCH OF REMY BELLEAU) 

April, thou art the smile 

That erewhile 
Cypris wore ; and thy birth 
Is so sweet that in heaven 

The gods even 
Are breathing the perfume of earth. 

Tis thou, gracious and mild, 

Hast beguiled 
Those exiles fleet of wing, — 
Exiles long time afar, 

Swallows that are 
The messengers faithful of spring. 



82 



METEMPSYCHOSIS 

I watch thy face, Sweetheart, with half belief 
In olden tales of the soul's wayfaring; 
I marvel from what past thy young eyes bring 

Their heritage of long entailed grief. 

I watch thy face and soft as through a dream 
I see not thee, but some fair, fated Greek, 
Whose carven lips grow flesh straightway and speak 

Stern words and sad, with perfect curves that seem 

But as the cynic sweetness of thy smile, 
Set quivering over tears in self-despite. 
Again I watch by mystic taper-light, 

Where a pale saint doth kneel a weary while ; 

I hear the murmured passion of her prayer, 
Imploring heaven for boon of sacrifice; 
S3 



84 ME TEMPS YCHOSIS 

I read behind the rapture of her eyes 
A look which thou didst teach me unaware. 



The visions pass; the light, but now so faint, 
Flames red and sudden over field and brook; 
Thy face is turned, full fronting me with look 

Worn never yet of cynic nor of saint; 

And now amid fierce Northern battle-glare, 
Where wounded heroes wait the gods' decree, 
The Valkyr rides, and o'er her brow I see 

The floating golden glory of thy hair. 

Sweet spirit, pilgrim through the cycled years, 
Dear though thou art I may not bid thee stay; 
I bless thee whatsoever chartless way 

Thou goest, God-impelled. I have no fears. 

I know thou wilt surrender not to pain; 

Thou wilt look never forth from coward eyes ; 

Thou would'st not barter truth for Paradise ; 
Thou could'st not think that ease and peace were 
gain. 



ME TEMPS YCHOSIS 85 

Far off, I know, the darkness shall be light 

For him who scorneth to make terms with Fate ; 
Far off for thee, Beloved, there must wait 

The answered question, and the finished fight. 



A LETTER 

The last light falls across your pictured face 
(Unanswering sweet face, half turned away), 
Withdrawing still, as down the west apace 
Fades too the profile of June's longest day. 
I wonder, did you watch an hour ago 
While dropped the sun behind the mountain-line? 
And did you think how it, retreating so, 
Must blaze along this level world of mine? 
Love, what have I to do with sunset skies, 
How red soever? All the world for me 
Spreads eastward, and before my spirit's eyes, 
Set fair between the mountains and the sea, 
Doth stand the distant city of my heart. 



Forgive me if I tell myself in vain : 
"There is no power in this wide world to part 
Our souls. Avail not time nor space nor pain, 
86 



A LETTER 87 

For love is unconditioned." Dear, to-night 

I am like an unlessoned child, who cries 

For the sweet sensual things of touch and sight; 

I want to read the gladness in your eyes; 

I want your voice though but to speak my name ; 

My heart uncomforted, unsatisfied, 

Hath put my best philosophy to shame. 

Yet if you crossed the shadows to my side, — 

No vision, but your very self indeed, — 

I should not ask what kindly fate had brought 

My heart's desire. I should not find at need 

Expression for one eager waiting thought, 

Not one of all the words I have to say. 

I should but lean my cheek upon your hand, 

And hold you close, the old, mute, childish way, 

And you would comfort me and understand. 

But not to-night, — I will be patient, Sweet, 
Sit silently, and let life have its will. 
The tread of the last passer in the street 
Sounds with the chiming hour, then all is still, 
Save that the little fountain in the park 
Sings lazily the same old summer song 



I A LETTER 

You knew in quiet nights when winds lay furled. 
I needs must dream alone here in the dark 
A little while, to-morrow go forth strong, 
Lifting the shield of Love against the world. 



VENICE IN APRIL: A MEMORY 

A gondola motionless lying 

Under the Arsenal wall; 

A weary boatman at stern and at bow 

Supinely stretched half asleep ; 

And you with eyes merrily deep 

Silent to mine replying, 

Tis sweet to remember how. 

We had floated far that day, 
That happiest day of all ! 
The circling silver mountain-rim 
Shut us safe from the world away; 
Though eyes we loved were hurt and dim, 
There came to us nor cry nor call, 
Where, idle-oared, content we lay 
Under the Arsenal wall. 

On the ripple a quivering crescent 
Tossed like a tortured thing, 
But, far above, serene, 
89 



90 VENICE IN APRIL: A MEMORY 

It hung in the curve of the sky ; 

At our prow was the gentle, incessant 

Sound of the waves' caress, 

Impelled by the light breath wandering by 

From some ocean god unseen 

In his palace of idleness ; 

And ever from two bell- towers 

Rang out the quarter- hours, 

In broken harmonies 

Like the changes in a chaunt : 

Sounds to stay in one's ears and haunt 

One's dreams with perplexing memories. 

Shoreward or seaward making, 

The boats passed lazily ; 

We watched one golden sail that flew 

{Its fellow-flock forsaking) 

Before our eyes like a butterfly, 

Afar where the sea-breeze fresher grew; 

How it seemed to beckon from out the blue 

Of the mystical, deepening southern sky, 

Till we longed to follow, we two ! 

The fair day loitered to its close, 

The boatmen awakened, the play-time was done; 



VENICE IN APRIL: A MEMORY 91 

The wide air turned to gold and rose, 
And where we watched a passing rower, 
We saw the water run 
Drop by drop from his gleaming oar, 
Opal and pearl and amethyst. 

Eastward and westward grew the light; 
San Marco's domes were floating mist; 
The Campanile's slender height 
Stood pale against one purple cloud, 
Down which the sun dropped suddenly, 
Piercing it through with a golden shaft. 
We were silent now, none spoke nor laughed; 
Only the bells anon rang loud, 
Ever repeating to you and to me : 
"The story is ended, the dream is o'er, 
You may carry away beyond the sea 
A picture, and nothing more." 

And yet, might the dream of a dream avail,, 

'Twere good to dream it over again; 

To forget the years that lie between, 

To be careless of heart as then; 

To see the glow of that warm rose light, 



92 VENICE IN APRIL: A MEMORY 

Feel the hush of that air serene; 
Once more down the silvery, far lagune, 
Under opal sky and crescent moon, 
To follow that golden sail. 



TO-DAY'S DAUGHTER 

Written for the Graduating Class at Smith College, June, 1885 



very fair and strong she stands to-day, 

This youngest daughter to receive her dower; 

1 see the wise World-mother smiling lay 
Gift after gift before her, bid her choose 
The richest, purest, rarest, lest she lose 

One happiness, one power. 



Thou wise World-mother ! it was long to wait 

Hoarding thy treasures while the slow years 
passed, 
Keeping thy cherished plan inviolate 
With thine inscrutable, sweet smile, until 
This golden hour has risen to fulfil 
Thy dearest wish at last 
93 



94 TO-DAY'S DAUGHTER 

in 

For this thy child, a woman earnest-eyed, 

Who wears thy gracious favours worthily, 
Pledges her honest faith, her constant pride, 
To live her life as one who holds in trust 
God's gold to give again, who fearless must 
Face the great days to be. 

rv 

Naught is denied her : mind alert, intent ; 

Eyes that look deep into the heart of things; 
A skilful hand to shape; a firm will bent 
On purposes that have no petty ends ; 
A strength that falters not for foes nor friends; 
A soul that has swift wings. 



Deep has she read of poet and of priest; 
Wit of philosopher and lore of sage ; 
And science, with its growth of great from least, 
Who bids earth's cowering, secret things appear, 
And stand out in this latter sunshine, clear 
As type upon God's page. 



TO-DAY'S DAUGHTER 95 

VI 

Yet finds she wiser teachers, friends more dear, 

In shadowy wood-path and on clover slope; 
When the June twilight slow and still creeps near, 
And rocks put on their purple majesty; 
When stars across the dark tell glimmeringly 
Her happy horoscope. 

VII 

And sometimes, when the low moon lies asleep 

On its cloud-bed, like a fair child, play-spent, 
Across the river-fields and up the steep 

Come, silent stealing through the silver mist, 
Strange visitors, whose holy lips have kissed 
Death's own, yet are content. 

VIII 

Wide eyes that seem to bring from far-off years 
Their loves and hopes and tragedies again; 
And voices sadly cadenced to young ears, 
Yet musical with old-time gentleness; 
And smiles that half conceal and half confess 
Some unforgotten pain. 



96 TO-DAY'S DAUGHTER 



IX 



And one with voice that hath a dauntless ring, 

Saith, " From thy life, Sweet, may the gods avert 
The need of this strange gift I dare to bring, 
A Roman woman's strength, who will not spare 
A quivering death-wound at the heart to wear, 
And say it doth not hurt." 



Speaketh a voice whose sound is of the sea : 

" Oft have I paced the beach, while sheer above 
Towered the rocks, waiting immutably 
As my heart waited. From Inarime, 
Across the years, Vittoria brings to-day 
Her gift of tireless love." 

XI 

As starlight comes through myriad miles of space, 

Undimmed, untarnished, waxing never old, 
So shineth (nor can centuries efface) 
One light set in the sky of time afar, 
Thy soul, Antigone, that like a star 
Burneth with flame of gold. 



TO-DAY'S DAUGHTER 97 



XII 



Antigone, what woman were not glad 

To feel against her life the touch of thine? 
To meet thine eyes, so unafraid, if sad? 

To hear thy words, to clasp thy potent hand? 
To read thy womanhood as a command 
To sacrifice divine? 



XIII 

Yet past nor present can avail to fill 

This woman's thoughts, who leans and listens best 
To voices of the future, calling shrill, 

With strain and stress of troubled destinies, 
Content she leaves her dreams and reveries 
For life's sublime unrest. 



xrv 

With steadfast step she walks in darkened ways 
Where women's curses sound, and children's 
cries ; 
Her gentleness shall win, her strength shall raise, 
Her love shall cleanse, her righteous words shall 
burn, 

H 



98 TO-DAY'S DAUGHTER 

And wasted, piteous baby-lips shall learn 
Glad laughter from her eyes. 

xv 

Shadow shall shrink, and sunlight shine for her; 
And love shall touch her life like a caress ; 
And loyal human hearts shall minister 

To her heart's need, who hath for joy, for pain, 
For sorrow's mourning, ay ! and for sin's stain 
Unending tenderness. 

XVI 

Around her closes, quivering and tense, 
Life's narrow circle of perplexities ; 
The clamoring hours, the hurrying events ; 

Yet shall she pass through tumult and through 

crowd 
Serene, as one who hears God's voice ring loud 
Across far silences. 



Who climbs life's mountain walks with tardy tread, 

For love of flowers that smile about his feet, 
For love of pines that whisper overhead, 



TO-DAY'S DAUGHTER 99 

For love of wandering bird-calls, shy and sweet; 
Yet where the birds come not, beyond the pines, 

Past rock and steep and cloud, the final height 

Forever rises silent, stainless white, 
Where shadow never falls, where latest shines 

The lingering light. 



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